Undead or Alive
by Extika
Summary: "And on that stormy night under pouring rain, Takeshi Yamamoto died." Ten years later, a man with musty green skin and his paranormal investigative friend catch the attention of the Vongola. AU


**Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn belongs to Amana Akira.**

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Chapter 1

There's a knife in his back, Takeshi Yamamoto's mind hazily realized. A moment too late. That was all it took for his attacker to retract the knife and plunge it between the Japanese man's shoulder blades once again, eliciting a strangled cry.

Why was this happening? Takeshi couldn't focus long enough for a clear answer, nor could he move a muscle. His opponent was on a whole 'nother level, having rendered the swordsman immobile within seconds.

Options-options…There had to be some. His katana Shigure Kintoki had been cast aside, his flawless Shigure Soen Ryu style useless without it.

Rain fell heavily now, seeping through and mingling with his bloodstained orange shirt. Takeshi laid panting, face down, one hand grasping out at the sword just beyond his reach. Iron tinged with crimson flooded his senses - he was drowning in his own blood.

Eerie silence rested heavily on the area, and Takeshi almost wished his attacker would say something, anything, if only to fill the void, to remind him that he was still there. He wasn't accustomed to silent opponents, ones who attacked without announcing their attacks.

He was fading into nonexistence, fast, his mind no longer filled with optimism. Knowing that he would die, here, in this grungy American alleyway, without having said one final goodbye to his friends or old man.

He realized that he didn't _want_ to die. There was still so much to live for, damn it! His friends, the Family – Takeshi hadn't even become a great baseball player yet!

He had been given a second chance once before, that time on the school rooftop. He had promised not to give up over something so trivial.

Now here he was, wheezing his last breath. His second chance squandered due to unchecked overconfidence.

A harsh kick sent him skidding against the unforgiving concrete until he sprawled out limply on his ruined back. Blank hazel eyes gazed upwards at the clouded sky, not even bothering to blink out/through the rain. A silhouette, his attacker, his killer, strode away into the night, satisfied.

A horrifyingly empty blackness seeped into his vision, and with his last breath, he whispered, "Tsuna..."

And on that stormy night under pouring rain, Takeshi Yamamoto died.

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They had found the corpse early in the morning, glazed eyes gazing far into the afterlife. The cause of death: exsanguination from seven, arbitrary stab wounds. No motive was given, no evidence or culprit found - the downpour had cleansed the area of all but a maroon stain on concrete.

The city held a small funeral for the man found murdered on the streets. No friends or family are present, of course, for who comes for a nameless man? He had no driver's license, no passport, no name to go by.

And so his grave had merely three words scrawled into the gray stone: "Rest in Peace"

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The Vongola were in a panic, the boss most of all. No word from his Rain Guardian had arrived for days now, nearly a week after he had been dispatched to America on a mission.

Perhaps Tsunayoshi Sawada was merely paranoid - attempted assassinations occurred every week. Maybe he was overthinking things per usual. After all, Takeshi Yamamoto was one of—no—the best swordsmen in the world. An assassin wouldn't even have time to shoot before Takeshi cut them down. The master of Shigure Soen Ryu would not be so easily taken down.

Takeshi Yamamoto was simply too focused on his mission to return the sixty two calls made by his friends. That was all.

Intuition told Tsunayoshi Sawada otherwise.

"Don't worry about the sword freak, boss," his Storm Guardian, Hayato Gokudera, had said while taking a drag of cigarette.

His tutor Reborn had reassured him, in his 'Stop moping around and get his next mission ready' way.

Even the VARIA's Superbi Squalo confronted his boss's boss with a "VOI!" and a "That idiot prob'ly got distracted with baseball again!"

Their reassurance helped, but Tsunayoshi Sawada couldn't help but worry for his friend.

His concerns were not unfounded - there would be no sign of the kindhearted swordsman for the next ten years.

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**A/N: So I know I shouldn't be starting another story when I have others to update, but I needed to put this idea into words.**

**Anyway, I hope this wasn't too rushed or confusing (I wrote it fairly quickly)**

**Thanks for reading**


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